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“That should fix you up. Let me put this into your truck, and I’ll help you off the dock,” he told her.
After setting her purchase on the front seat of the dilapidated vehicle, he took hold of the crone’s tiny waist and lifted her from the concrete platform. She tittered like a schoolgirl as she hurried into the truck, her dark eyes twinkling with delight.
“Be careful driving home!” he said, standing back to escape being swiped by the closing door.
“Hmph. Been driving for sixty-three years. Should know the way by now.”
No doubt, but she’d never gone more than ten miles per hour, Hugh thought as she inched the old relic away from the dock. As he wondered how many people had suffered wrecks or nervous breakdowns from driving behind her, he raised a hand in answer to her wave into her sideview mirror.
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